Miracle In Wait

In a moment of desperation I asked God to reveal his artistry in me. My heart was empty yet heavy, my eyes were closed and teeth clenched, doubted my maturity could comprehend what I was about to receive. 

With the wind under a Robin’s wing, the latch released and the storm door whipped open. I wonder to this day where all of the documents I had piled on my desk blew away to like cigarette ashes in a car with the windows down. I fancy that they went to a wide waterway of eternal flow or a burn barrel balanced outside of Hades gates.

My addresses and personal contact information lace the grid on the information superhighway destined to only God knows where, but I will not retain the animosity I acquired while collecting the facts necessary to turn the judge’s eyes away from the weeping jurors. “Listen”, I told him, “if you’re careful, you’ll recognize that I’m not her enemy.”

One eye peeking upward waiting on my miracle. The past began to disappear like the dust of the milky way before morning. Old Farmer Brown in his tweed vest carrying bushels of fresh tomatoes into the Widows backyard -- Pastor Lyles and I alone in the sanctuary, helping me decide which bridges were better left uncrossed and which were necessary to burn. The leaves turned in Autumn right in front of me and Winter wind whipped straight and true. I longed for Spring but knew it wasn't time for that season.

The past at some point drowned in the eternal flow beneath a smoldering bridge. 

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

They say that winter is longer and harder in some parts of soul country than in others. Funny how we can wander such landscapes together and still never cross paths. The longing, poignancy, and sheer isolation of this piece, left me very impressed. Despair is the mother of all great creativity. Ask anyone humble enough to have achieved wisdom, and he will tell you of the shaping hands of the sculptor known as the Dark Night. wonderfully done.

[Emily B]

tried to add this to my favorites, the powers that be have been screwing with things again, i guess

i love this, want to come back to it on a day that i can breathe

[Alfred Kukitz]

There is a down homeyness in your prose Silver. I love the way you cross paths with pure honesty and fact. A tenderness arises in your writing like no other writer here. A sweet thank you for sharing your heart, soul and mind.

[Mia Sparrow]

it's good to sever the ties of the past and be relieved of its burdens. it takes a great degree of resolve to be able to do that. burning certain bridges are necessary to free yourself from any animosity that you have had to bear and that may have made you into something to be deplored; an angry bitter person. so it's better to just let it go and never look back.

this poem is rife with much imagery that makes the scenario complex and presents so many things that are happening. it's hard for me to determine what may really be going on.

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

time stands here in the honesty of thought and hope...still and quiet...it's almost eerie that in truth ...in conviction there is no air movement. In this magical being I feel total silence. Listening is the most important tool we have in inserting the key to the next door....opening the next season of change...of our future.

[Lyn Anderson]

Yes, well, I wish I could have some of that thing that erases the past. A wonderful write as always.

[Riverz]

I mean: mr silver (sorry)

[Riverz]

the reckless have the easiest time reasoning away their incontinence.

well done robin

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, leaving the old life, the past relationship...which is memories blown away as if by a tornado...

and that eternal flow...let's not burn the bridges, but cross them into new territory--a starting over.

[m.s.early]

Thank you for your review Jacob. I totally understand what you're saying and agree for the most part, but some old territories should never be revisited lest we get burned, instead of the bridges ;)